


Days that Were

by xtricks



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Chromatic Character, DW: LotTL, F/M, TW: post season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-28
Updated: 2008-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-02 05:19:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xtricks/pseuds/xtricks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Year that Never Was - a few days that were.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Days that Were

### Days that Were

The air here was crisp and resinous, sun baked and ocean touched - nothing like the humid, miserable, oily heat of the boiler rooms, nothing like the mechanically scrubbed air of the Valiant, nothing like the madness Jack swore he could sometime _smell_ in that long, horrible year that hadn't happened.

The Doctor, in a display of either grief or compassion - Jack guessed both - had taken Martha, her family and Jack off to someplace far away from everything they'd been through, away from the UNIT investigators, away from England, away from everything. They were, if Jack read his starscape right, somewhere in Greece, sometime near the present day and creeping around like criminals in a sunny, huge, isolated villa. There was nothing to be afraid of but after a year of clinging to shadows no one was comfortable in the light. Jack had spent the last few days eating and sitting in the huge sunken tub (often both at the same time) in the equally huge bedroom he'd claimed as his own. He was finally feeling comfortable enough in his skin to feel lonely in it.

His hair was still damp from his most recent shower, his skin scrubbed pink and tender. He couldn't scrub away the memories and he still felt_ contaminated _by the Master but at least – he ran a hand through his hair - he was tidy on the outside. If he acted the part long enough, maybe he’d start believing it again.

Jack finished puttering around in the copper and steel-clad kitchen and slid his hand under the platter he'd prepared. A bottle of sweet, resinous wine and two glasses clutched in his other hand, he padded barefoot and bare-chested out to the enclosed courtyard, where the afternoon heat made everything feel lazy and half-asleep. Jack had to blink as tears rose unexpectedly to his eyes; the air smelled alive, clouds moved across the pale sky, a bug buzzed irritatingly in the distance – even the mosquito bites on his arm were proof of _life._ Earth endured. The end hadn’t come, this time.

Tish was there, sitting on the grass with her fists clenched on her knees and Jack hesitated at the door. He glanced down at the plate of food; black and green olives in oil, crumbly feta cheese, dried figs, thin slices of cured meat, dark bread and peaches as soft and lushly curved as a young man’s ass.

Tish had fed him for a year. She'd been the only compassionate face he'd seen in all that time and - sometimes for weeks - she'd been the only face he'd seen, period. The Master couldn't be bothered with his indestructible toy every day and there were times when Jack was left alone for weeks. He'd always been grateful, and desperately alone - terrified, bored, often sick, usually starving, wounded, sometimes dying. Tish would come to him like a good angel. There were times when Jack had wept at the sight of her and times when she'd wept to see him. For a year, it has been the two of them, fighting to hold their own against the Master.

She was wearing gauzy white trousers similar to his and a matching shirt and her densely curled hair was loose over her shoulders. He’d never seen her in the sunlight or in anything besides an ugly servant’s costume but he’d know the bones of her face, the lines of hate bracketing her mouth, and the shadows in her eyes anywhere. Her eyes were open, fixed on him, and wary.

“Tish,” Jack tried on a smile. It felt strange.

“Jack.” And she fell silent.

Jack stared at her for a moment longer because what did they have in common but things they couldn’t bear talking about? He’d never even met her before the Year That Never Was. He hefted the platter slightly, then the bottle, and smiled again. “Lunch? Booze?”

“Sure.” Tish straightened up as Jack walked over and folded himself cross-legged on the grass beside her. He poured a retsina for them both and busied himself with settling the bottle on the grass so it wouldn’t spill, instead of trying to think of something to say. They both stared at their glasses in silence, until Jack laughed at himself, toasted Tish and tossed the retsina back, coughing at the burn.

“Never thought I’d run out of words,” Jack said and fished for a piece of crumbly cheese.

Tish opened her mouth, hesitated and shut it agin. “So, drink.

“And_ eat_,” Jack said, mouth full. The cheese was like a miracle in his mouth, salty and strong, he had to squeeze his eyes shut, tears escaping from the corners as he chewed. He fumbled for his glass, washing down the lump in his throat and heard a loud sniff, he opened his eyes to see Tish weeping, glass shaking in her hand. She reached out, fumbling up one of the oily black olives only to have it squirt from her fingers and ricochet off Jack’s bare shoulder to bounce into the grass.

Jack couldn’t help the sudden whoop of laughter, throwing his head back, aching with grief and joy and all the things he hadn’t let himself feel for a year. Tish’s laugh was equally rusty, strange, almost hysterical. But, no one cared, here. No one was going to point fingers or wonder why two near strangers sat in the grass and laughed until they cried.

“Let me help – “ he gasped, picking up an olive. Then, desperately, “let me _help._”

He'd stood for a year on the sidelines and watched the world fall apart; helpless. He couldn't do that again.

Jack scrabbled on the plate for a spiced olive, green and firm, stuffed with a clove of pickled garlic. His own mouth watered at the feel of it, slick and oily, and he held it out to Tish, holding her gaze. She leaned forward, catching his fingers in her mouth, curling her tongue around the olive before drawing back to chew and swallow.

Jack picked up cheese next, crumbling in his fingers even as he offered it across the platter. He felt ravenous, watching her, and she watched him, never taking her eyes from his face even as her teeth grazed his thumb and he groaned.

"He made me poison you," she said huskily.

Jack rolled a strip of pancetta around his finger and offered it. "I know," he said. He remembered the sickness and the pain, his own guts rotting away until he shat himself to death.

Now, the sun was hot on his bare skin; prisoner pale, he knew he'd burn under it and didn't care. The grass was stiff and prickly under his thighs, patchy and imperfect. There was nothing but life around them, the smell of oil and vinegar, the burn of alcohol in his throat, Tish's mouth wet and open against his hand. The world _lived_ and Jack wanted to roll around on the grass and drink down the sound of the insects and love the mosquitoes sipping his blood like wine.

"Twice," she bit down on his finger, hard enough to hurt and Jack curled his thumb under her chin stroking her. Her skin was hot, cocoa dark and felt rich under his touch, like the sun warmed skin of an aubergine. "He made me_ watch."_

"It doesn't matter now."

"I fed you _poison."_

Jack reached for a glass of pungent retsina. "Here."

Tish sobbed as she drank, retsina spilling down her chin like water. Jack watched the slide of her throat, shining under the sticky liquor and leaned forward to wind his oily fingers in her hair and kiss her. He licked her throat, licking away the alcohol then fed Tish his tongue, kissing her hard and wet and obscene.

"I'm alive," he told her, their teeth clashing, noses bumping clumsily. "Alive. We're _alive."_

She sucked on his mouth, tongue greedy, mouth open, hungry, hungry - Jack was so _hungry._

He lurched forward, clutching at her top, fumbling like a virgin to her breast, full and warm and ripe under his hand. Tish's nails scratched his shoulder, her fingers grabbed his hair and she dragged his mouth from hers -

_"-want -"_ he begged, straining forward. She pulled him down, arched up, pushed his face to her breast. Jack opened his mouth against the rough cotton, licking against it to the nipple rising hard underneath. Hungry, _yes_, for this, for everything ... his hands fell on the velvety curve of a peach and he dug his fingers into the soft flesh, juice squirting across his fingers.

"Tish, Tish ...." he reared back up, offering a ragged chunk of peach flesh, pressing it to her lips, his mouth following. They kissed, he pressed the peach to her mouth, his tongue following, just missing the bite of her sharp teeth, sweet juice spilling down both their chins, he flicked his tongue into her mouth as she chewed, stealing some of what she had, both swallowing, moaning.

Tish grabbed him, shoved him back, pushed him down, her mouth slick and wet before she scooped a handful of crumbly cheese up and smeared it hard against his bare chest. Her fingers slid roughly over a nipple and Jack couldn't help the surge and groan, his cock was pressed hard against his thin cotton trousers, a patch of translucent wetness marking his eagerness.

She bent over him, expression so focused she looked angry, harsh, hungry and Jack threw out his arms and arched his throat, spread his legs. Tish came down on him, mouth and teeth first, scraping his skin, sucking on him, pushing two fingers into his mouth and he sucked hungrily, thrusting with his tongue, full of greed and heat and the obscene feel of Tish's mouth.

Tish ate her way down him.

"More, more, more ...." Jack was begging, mumbling against her fingers, his hand tangled in her wild hair. He arched to kick off his trousers, feeling Tish's nails scrape his hip as she pulled on them and he fumbled for the food ... the broken peach coming to his hand, wet and slick and he swiped it over his cock from balls to crown with a dazed cry at the chill touch. He pushed her down to where he needed her.

Tish bit the shaft of his cock and Jack thrashed, jerking up, twisting his hand in her shirt then hauling frantically at it. She rose up to shed it, baring the line of her shoulders, the angle of her neck, the sway and swell of her breasts as she bent back over him. The sky was painfully blue beyond the dark cloud of her hair and he was falling away into it.

"Let me," she nearly growled, pressing her hands to his thighs. "Jack - I want-"

"Anything," he groaned, spreading wider, balls and cock bare and exposed, shining under scraps of peach flesh and juice. Her hands were his anchor, holding him here and now and alive, as they had done all year, feeding him, washing him, her touch the only tenderness, the only contact that brought comfort.

"This," he wept. "This is what I -"

"I'm sorry," she was panting, breath fast over his cock and her body shaking under his hands. "Sorry, sorry, sorry ...." dissolving into a mantra, maddening, hopeless.

"No."

"What I saw, what I did, everything died -"

"No!"

"Everything burned, the whole world, everything inside me."

Jack twisted his hands in her hair and pressed his cock to her cheek, shuddering and gasping jerkily. "Alive," he hissed. "Alive, alive, we're alive and we'll live and we'll be alive because we won. We won and I won't lose. I won't lose to him - you won't lose."

"No, nonono -"

"Taste me," Jack demanded desperately. "Here, I'm alive. Not dead. Never dead."

And it was a blessing, right in this moment, when Tish opened her mouth and sucked the head of his cock between her lips and they were alive.

She swallowed around him, like she was starving and Jack moaned brokenly because _he_ was starving, his skin starving and his body hollow and his pulse roaring through him as he came and came and came, crying out like he was dying but he was alive, alive, _alive. _

Tish climbed up his shaking body and Jack reached for her, urged her up until her breasts swayed against his mouth and he could suck on her, lick her, open his mouth and taste the crinkled flesh of her nipple, suckle on her, eyes tight shut, mouth noisy. Tish gasped and groaned and straddled his belly, rocking her wet pussy against him.

Jack skimmed his hands over her hips, scraping his nails across the curve of her waist and the too sharp angle of her hips. He slid one thumb down to press the base of her clit, feeling the jerk and surge of her body against him.

"I'm hungry, Tish," he growled. Because he was hungry, still hungry. Hadn't had enough yet. He might never have enough, ever again, was greedy enough to swallow the world down. Jack rolled her over, spreading her out beneath him, skimming his mouth down her body until he could bite gently at the swell of her mons.

The noises she made were small and fearful until Jack pressed two fingers between the lips of her labia, stroking in a little roughly - she was tight - and she yelled for him and yanked on his hair. Tish tasted like salt and pungent heat and Jack licked down into her, pressing her labia apart with his fingers, chin slick, tracing the lively, delicate lines of her flesh to the hard knot of her clit, licking there, licking there, licking her there.

Tish thrashed and surged and bucked and Jack rode her, mouth pressed hard to her, writhing on the grass, his cock swelling again with almost painful speed. Her thighs clamped down on his shoulders and she shrieked furiously and came, pulsing against his mouth and hand. Jack stayed where he was, lazily tracing his tongue over and into her, licking up the silky wetness until she pulled him off.

She reached down for his cock, smiling at him, heavy lidded and satisfied, when she felt how hard Jack was. There was sun and sky around them when she rolled him onto his back and straddled his hips.

They hardly knew each other ... had lived a terrible lifetime together ... had no words for each other .... Tish leaned back, reached down and guided Jack's cock between the swollen lips of her labia.

Jack felt the heat and slickness of her there, how hot she was, how open and he moaned as she sank down onto him, taking him in. When she rocked, she shifted around him, squeezing his cock. Jack reached out blindly, cupping her breasts, pinching her dark nipples between his fingers. She rolled her hips against him, he was buried balls deep, surrounded by her slick heat, held deep and hard. He arched up, watching her with wide eyes. The hate was washing away from her face, just_ want_ left behind. Jack rolled his hips, thighs shifting beneath her weight, pleasure flushing her skin. Tish rose and fell, rose and fell, breasts swaying, hair spiraling out in the breeze, lower lip caught between her teeth until Jack reached up and pressed his thumb there.

She sucked on him and slid around him, thighs hot against his skin, pussy hotter. Everything Jack was gathered to his cock until he ached, until he was bucking and surging under Tish and she was panting and twisting her hips, working on him, working around him. She tucked her fingers against her mons, pressing her clit, Jack couldn't think to help her, clinging to the grass afraid he was going to fall off the edge of the world. The demand of pleasure was all consuming, Jack was blinded by it, deaf, dumb - Tish was shrieking, long drawn out cries that didn't cover his own shouts. Then the rush of climax hit him as if he was coming back to life; golden fire, scorching release, he was nothing but the pulse and pulse and clench and fierce seizing of orgasm.

Jack writhed and sobbed, vision coming back in surges of white hot sparks. Tish was still unfinished and he gripped her hips, hauling her down to grind against his softening cock - despite the shuddering oversensitivity - while she worked herself with her fingers and climaxed with a dizzy wail.

The world was still there, as Tish collapsed against him, gasping as sweat slick. Jack spread his hands over her heaving back as his cock softened and slid out of her, fluids trickled over his balls, sticky and hot.

"We won," Jack whispered. "We're still alive."

**END 092808**


End file.
